


Ever Been With a God Before?

by ivanolix



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Infidelity, Plot What Plot, Porn, Pre-Canon, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-06
Updated: 2010-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-24 12:20:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivanolix/pseuds/ivanolix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're not too drunk to know that they want each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ever Been With a God Before?

Kara watches the martini slosh out of the glass, taking the olive with it. The man with the blue eyes frowns and chases the green fruit, and Kara giggles at his intensity, and the way his fingers can’t seem to hit the target.

“Don’t—don’t laugh at me,” he protests, and finally gets the olive back into the glass. “Not funny.”

Kara leans across the couch with no tangible memory of whose couch it is or why she’s there. It smells nice, though, it smells familiar. And the man is gorgeous, and gorgeously too serious. She can help with that, with a smirk as she leans towards him. “You and that olive should break up; she’s no good for you.”

“And who are you to judge?” the man answers with a slight widening of his eyes, mock-seriousness looking almost as at home on his face as the real thing.

She remembers his name. “I’m god,” she says, and neither of them can hold a straight face. Kara Thrace and Lee Adama, snickering under their breath with half-empty glasses in their hand that definitely aren’t their firsts. “I just know,” she finally says, nodding.

“Doubt it,” Lee answers, with a face that tells her he’s doing it just for the sake of doing it.

“You don’t think I know you, Lee Adama?” She laughs with a frown. “Well, I can’t seem to remember how. Or where. Or why. But I...I’m pretty sure I know you.” When she pokes his chest, there’s well-defined muscles underneath. She’s not surprised, which just confirms that she knows him.

“Just kidding,” Lee says, with a dance in his eyes once hers meet his. “I know you too, Kara...Kara...”

She loses it again, and has to wipe her eyes once she holds back the giggles. “I don’t have a last name?”

“You don’t,” Lee says, his hand coming down on her knee as he nods firmly. “I’m sure you don’t. Just Kara. ‘s all you need.”

“I prefer god,” she informs him as she leans into his space, fingers brushing lightly down his button-up shirt (slightly wet with martini). His blue eyes aren’t new to her, even though she’s not sure how, and that plus the way he smells good keeps her floating in his space, a distant smile on her face.

“Never been with a god before,” Lee murmurs with an affected frown. “Not sure what I should say.”

Flashing her biggest smile, Kara scoots in a little closer, handsy in this good mood and not caring. She knows him. And her body is warm, getting hotter, tingling at all the right places. “Frak me,” she says under her breath, blowing the words past his ear.

He shudders, tenses a moment, and she can almost hear the confused wrinkle appear on his brow. “Frak you?”

“No,” Kara says, looking into his eyes and half climbing on his lap before he can protest. She can’t stop grinning. “You say, ‘Frak me’ when you’re with a god—and this god, at least, doesn’t mind if you forget the ‘please’.”

For a few seconds he’s lost, staring into her eyes, hands absently at her hips because with her in his lap there’s nowhere else for them to go. Then, voice almost a dry choke, he murmurs, “Frak me?”

“If you insist,” Kara answers, and captures his hesitating lips in a kiss. The rush of electricity makes her limbs go weak, and if he hadn’t been quick on the uptake she might have crashed into him. As it is, he kisses back, stronger than normal drunk men can manage, and his hands scrape past her breasts to splay on her back—she moans against his hot mouth and wishes they’d have lingered a little longer.

His fingers run up and down her spine, tickling against her over-sensitive skin, and she sucks at his lower lip and slides her hands under his shirt to his chest. His pec definition makes her mouth water, makes her kiss him again like he’s ambrosia itself, and his groan of pleasure vibrates through her and makes her eyes roll back in her head. Gods, she thinks, forgive me for the blasphemy before, and grant Lee Adama enough stamina for me to do everything I want with him.

For a moment, as she pushes him hard against the cushions, gurgling her pleasure as his fingers find her breasts and she yanks at his shirt-buttons, she has enough memory to wonder why they’re alone in the house (whosever’s it is) and why she wants to frak Lee Adama (Adama, that name rings such a distinct bell) until the couch breaks. But alcohol is just as bad as white-hot desire in getting her to abandon everything troublesome but her name. And she’s deliciously drunk.

Her black miniskirt, frak its annoying nature, rides up her hips as she straddles Lee’s trouser-clad ones and feels him growing hard beneath her in a way that makes her sex hot and slippery. His pupils are wide, his chest palpitating with fast breaths, mouth just agape enough to make her want to lick up his jawbone to his ear.

But when she slips off her top and throws it aside in a heap he pulls her down too fast, face burying between her breasts, mouth hungry for her body. Kara digs her fingers into his shoulder when he licks at her right breast, sucking through the bra until she’s gasping, trying not to arch away from the heat of his mouth. Her hands arch instead, wonderfully useless, until finally he bites down, and she can’t bear the distance between them.

Shoving at his shoulders, she pushes herself up just enough to strip. Breathing too hard to grin properly, she rips his trousers and briefs down his hips, groping at the angles of his hipbones as she’s impatient for what happens next.

“Ever frakked a god before?” she tosses out as a useless quip. But he smiles a sex-intoxicated smile back, hand sliding up her hip, and she laughs and shimmies out of her panties in barely more than a few seconds.

It’s so easy to look straight in his eyes as she slides down, nestling his cock inside her, the sensation making her body shiver with relief and greed all at once. Her hips jerk down, hitting his, and she gasps. Her hair is in her face, damp with sweat already, but all she can read in Lee’s eyes is that he can’t stop looking at her. Body overwhelmed with lust, she rides him hard, hips curving so that he hits deep inside her with her every downward thrust.

She closes her eyes to drink it all in as it happens, his length filling her, then his palms cupping her breasts, then his thumbs rubbing circles around her nipples. The couch squeaks, Lee’s breaths grow ragged, and Kara has to grip his shoulders to keep from slipping with each gyration of her hips.

But then, just as she’s losing focus, Lee jerks himself to a sitting position and wraps his arms around her. He’s still embedded deep in her, and then he pushes her back to the couch, fitting between her legs, crushing her against the cushions. Her hands flail for a grip, and when he leans down to grab her mouth in another kiss, she reaches for his shoulders. He starts thrusting quick, and her body is growing tense like a guitar string. She tries to think of his hasty kiss, nibbling at her lips, as grounding.

It doesn’t work. With a cry against his lips, orgasm floods suddenly over her, makes her hips rise up to meet his as he drives home, hot and needy and the sight of him sending shivery aftershocks running through her. He comes later with a near-silent groan, collapsing down on her, fitting against her curves with his cheek lying on one breast and his exhausted breaths clouding over the other.

“God,” he whispers. Then, showing a strange talent to hanging onto certain details for a long time, he mumbles, “Guess I broke up with the martini olive after all.”

Kara’s too tired to laugh, but she snickers and runs her fingers through his hair before sighing.

In a few moments, Kara will have to roll him off, and she’ll stumble to the bathroom to attempt basic clean-up before yawning and crumpling somewhere to sleep soundly. Lee will barely manage to get dressed again. Neither of them will remember any of it the next morning when Zak finally makes it back home and asks what the hell was in that New Years’ wine he brought.

But for now, Kara’s just tickled pink to have frakked Lee Adama and have him not protest her play. Lee Adama—Apollo, she thinks absently, not sure why, but they’re both a little godlike to have frakked that well while drunk. There’s nothing like sex to finish off a good evening, even if she’s still not sure why the evening was good. Or why she wanted sex with Lee Adama that bad.

The latter unsure quality will hang around even when her memory of the night’s event doesn’t.


End file.
